


Rewrite the Stars

by Bloodysyren



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:00:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodysyren/pseuds/Bloodysyren
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky quickly finished his cigarette and tossed it away, hurrying to catch up with Steve. Steve: sketchbook under his arm, bag overflowing with art supplies and old books. Practically his Steve, Bucky thought. He berated himself inwardly. Steve would never fall for him. He had been practically frigid ever since Bucky had first caught his eye in the cafeteria. Bucky fell into step with Steve and waited for the smaller boy to make the first move. They trudged on in silence for a few minutes and Bucky glanced over coyly. Steve's ice-blue eyes were downcast as he clutched his notebook tight to his chest. He finally broke the silence,

"So, where are you headed?" Steve's voice was soft and small like he was, Bucky thought. Steve glanced over to the taller boy, eyes flicking nervously over that messy chocolate-brown mohawk, grungy jeans, worn motorcycle boots and barely-visible tattoos on his upper arms. Bucky tried his best to catch the young artist's gaze and smirked.

"I'm going wherever you're going, if you'll let me." Bucky chuckled and caught sight of a slight smile flit across Steve's pale face. It was nice to have someone ask Steve's permission for once. It seemed that more and more people were expecting so much from him. He hefted his bag against his shoulder and turned to the punk who reeked of cigarettes and cologne. Steve was suddenly caught off guard.

The first time he had taken notice of the alternative-looking boy Steve was laughing at a joke one of his very few friends had told. He tossed his head back and laughed heartily in the buzzing lunch room, clutching his sides. He was wiping the tears from his eyes when he happened to glance towards a corner of the cafeteria. He saw a rebellious young man with a mohawk. A girl with purple braids had her arm wrapped casually around his shoulder but he didn't seem to notice. He was enraptured, staring unabashedly at Steve from across the crowded room.

Steve remembered that he had turned back to his friends and hadn't glanced back over. But after a week of determinedly avoiding that brazen gaze, Steve realized that every moment he wasn't in class he was sketching; those sharp hazel eyes, that rugged face, that messy brown hair. Steve's sketchbook was filled with the unnamed boy that he had shared one glance with in the cafeteria.

"How about a coffee shop?" The slight artist suggested, hoping for a communal space. He wanted to be able to sit down. To hopefully draw that distractingly handsome face from more than just memory.

"Why not?" Bucky slung his bag over his shoulder and followed like an obedient guard dog. They pushed through the doors of a warm coffee shop and Bucky slung his bag down by two overstuffed chairs. Steve immediately curled up like a content cat in the one opposite, flipping his sketchbook open to a blank page.

"Coffee?" Bucky suggested. Steve nodded his thanks.

"Cream or sugar?"

"Both, please." Steve replied.

"Ah. A sweet tooth, huh?" Bucky chuckled, pulling some cash out of his pocket.

"Something like that..." Steve said, turning back to his pencil and paper. He quickly sketched those deep eyes, the gentle curve of those perfect brows, the sharp angle of the punk's nose, and traced the cupid's bow of that surprisingly supple-looking mouth. Bucky returned with the coffee, taking his black. He set the other cup of coffee, cloudy with milk, in front of the artist. Steve had protectively hidden the sketchbook against his chest. Bucky sat down across from Steve and propped his foot up on the low table.

He remembered how hard he had fought, how secretive he had had to be in order to learn the slight artist's name with the sunny blonde hair and infectious laugh. He sipped his coffee and leaned forward, forearm on his knee.

"What do you even fill those things with? I can't draw to save my life." Bucky chuckled, leaning back comfortably. He had been around enough artists and writers to know when not to pry into the content of their work.

"Oh, you know...a little bit of everything. Mostly sketches and things. Everything's half-finished. It's nothing professional at all..."Steve replied with a breathy nervous chuckle. He sipped delicately at the hot coffee, realizing that the ratio that he usually put in himself was perfect the way that the punk had done it.

"I kept meaning to ask..." Steve clutched the sketchbook to his chest, glancing down, "I realized that I don't even know your name even though you know mine."

Bucky smiled, cradling the warm mug in his large hands,

"Did you want my regular name or my nickname?"

"Both?" Steve replied, relaxing a little bit. Bucky extended his hand in greeting,

"James Buchannan Barnes at your service. But you can call me Bucky." Steve gingerly reached out and shook it confidently. One of those bright smiles flashed across Steve's face again and Bucky felt his heart flutter in response. They spent hours at the coffee shop, studying and talking, finishing plates of food and steaming mugs of coffee. It was dusk before Steve started packing up.

"Time to go home?" Bucky asked, polishing off his mug of lukewarm motor oil.

"Something like that..." Steve said, shoving his sketchbook into his bag.

"You know," Bucky said, standing, "You're always welcome at my place. I know it's sudden, but, you know, if you ever need a place to crash for the night."

"That's very kind of you." Steve replied, slinging his bookbag over his shoulder. They walked out of the coffee shop and down the street.

"Do you mind if I walk with you a ways? My place is down here a few blocks." Bucky said, running an unsure hand through his now-limp mohawk. Steve nodded and they walked on in silence. The sky had been darkening all afternoon and suddenly the heavens opened and a torrential downpour assaulted the streets. The two students rushed under an awning and huddled close to a doorway.

"I didn't think that it would rain today." Steve said, clutching his bag closer to his body. He didn't have a jacket and Bucky noticed that he was shivering. The punk slipped off his jacket and draped it over the artist's shoulders, protecting him from the cold deluge.

"Thanks..." Steve said, his voice barely audible over the drenching rain. Bucky smiled.

"Of course. Don't mention it." They stood in silence for a few moments, watching cars slog through the rain.

"You know, my place is really close if you wanted to get out of this mess..." Bucky offered. Steve was getting sick of feeling cold, even with the warm large jacket hanging off of his shoulders.

"That sounds better than being out in the rain." Steve replied, glancing a little more confidently into Bucky's face. The punk smiled and led the way towards his digs. He opened the door and they trudged up three flights of rickety stairs to his apartment. It was small and warm, with a college-student's level of furnishing and decorating. There were posters taped to the walls. His bass and amp were in one corner. A worn but comfortable-looking couch was in the same room as his bed, held up off the floor with pallets. Steve let Bucky take his bag and borrowed coat, shuffling into the kitchen for a few chipped glasses.

"It's not much, but it's home. Make yourself comfortable." Bucky said, his back to Steve. The artist sat cross-legged gingerly on the couch, sinking against the worn cushions. Bucky handed him a half-full glass of whiskey, settling in next to him. They had a wonderful view of the street, lamps shining in spite of the heavy rain. Steve sipped at his drink, grateful for the dry and the warm.

"Have you lived here long?" Steve tried his best to make conversation.

"Ever since I started school."

"What year are you?"

"Third. You?" Bucky inquired, swallowing another mouthful of booze.

"Same. Major?" They talked for an hour, quizzing each other about their pasts, their futures. Bucky kept filling their glasses, glad to finally have some company. Steve was getting tipsy. He slumped happily against the cushions, finally feeling brave enough to ask this,

"What made you choose me?"

"Hm?" Bucky caught the artist's gaze, "You were just the most interesting person I had encountered in a long time. I wanted to get to know you." Bucky stood up and walked into the kitchen, filling their glasses with ice-cold water. He followed Steve to the window, looking out at the torrent outside.

"Why did you finally decide to give me a chance?" Bucky asked as Steve took grateful swallows of the water. Steve set his glass down on the floor, turning to the punk decisively,

"Because you have the most honest, beautiful, caring eyes that I have ever seen." Steve stumbled towards his bag as Bucky steadied him, pulling the sketchbook from his bag and pushing it into the punk's hands. Bucky sat down on the couch and flipped through the pages. They were covered in his likeness.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you." Steve confessed, "Your dark eyes. Your high cheekbones. Your perfect lips..." Steve looked down at his feet as Bucky turned the book from cover to cover. He finally closed it and put it delicately on the coffee table.

"You're really good, you know..." He said, waiting for Steve to look him in the face. The artist finally looked up and was practically chest to chest with the punk.

"Yeah, but I prefer the real thing..." Steve leaned up and closed his eyes as Bucky felt himself being drawn towards those soft lips. The rain lashed against the window.


	2. Chapter 2

After that first kiss Bucky really couldn't get the blonde artist out of his mind. He used every chance to try and catch Steve's eye. And this time, the smaller boy stared back, almost defiantly. His last class of the day finally ended and Bucky darted out of his seat, clutching his bookbag. He made it to the artist's usual spot minutes before Steve did, allowing him to catch his breath. He needn't have bothered. He saw Steve walking across campus and felt his heart leap into his throat.

The smaller boy was breathtaking. That sharp jaw, those calculating blue eyes that made Bucky feel like they could see right into his dirty soul. He ran a hand through his mohawk as casually as he could as Steve came up.

"So, were you doing anything for the weekend?" Bucky said as Steve pushed books into his bag.

"I don't have any specific plans, no." Steve was as cold-seeming as ever, but as he closed the flap on his satchel he turned that thousand-watt smile on Buck and the punk could feel his face getting hot. He turned away and slung his book bag over his shoulder,

"Did you want to come over to my place?"

"Sure."

Bucky unlocked the door to his apartment and Steve settled on the couch like he lived there: shoes off, feet tucked underneath him, that messy blonde hair sticking every which way. He opened his sketchbook and bent over it studiously as Bucky dropped his bag in a chair, moving to the sink to pour himself a glass of water.

"What are you doodling now?"

'Just some odds and ends...you know." Steve's pencil scratched against the paper and Bucky slumped on the couch next to him as gently as he could, resting his head on his fist, staring sleepily out the window, watching as the skies started to darken, just like that day a few months ago when Steve had kissed him.

Bucky smiled sweetly at the memory of those soft lips, that slight body pressed against his firm chest. He shifted and felt eyes on him. Glancing over, he saw Steve staring occasionally, apparently sketching the punk's heavenly profile.

"Don't you want to experience the real thing, as opposed to living in that paper daydream of yours?" Bucky chuckled as Steve kept sketching.

"Almost done." Steve closed his sketchbook and stared at Bucky from across the couch.

"Hey, uh...do you think after three months like...this...we would be considered dating?" Steve hugged his sketchbook. Bucky leaned over, bracing his arm against the couch, looming over the small artist,

"Do you want to go out with me?"

"I thought..that that was what we were already doing..."

Yeah, but now it's official..." Buck leaned closer, brushing his lips gently against Steve's. The young man leaned up into the kiss, dropping his book on the floor so he could grip Bucky's shirt, pulling the punk closer. Bucky nearly leapt out of his skin as Steve let a soft moan fall from his lips.

"Ahh, Buck....please..." Steve twitched under that deft mouth. Bucky was cradling Steve's thighs in his large warm hands, sucking greedily on the surprisingly well-endowed artist. He swirled his tongue teasingly around the head before coming up for air.

"Did you want me to stop?" Steve was gripping handfuls of that chocolate hair; the punk's mohawk tufting through those clenching fingers.

"No, I just...."

"Is it too much for you?" Bucky's self-assured smirk told all. Steve's cheeks were flushed as he glanced between his legs. Bucky's cock was dripping with excitement. Steve licked his lips.

"I want to feel you...here." Steve slid a hand between his legs, cock twitching greedily against his stomach.

"If that's alright?" Steve was back to his nervous, soft-spoken self. Bucky smiled. Finally, a chance to see that dirty mind in action. The punk hopped up and ran to the bedroom, returning with some lube. He squeezed some on his fingers and slicked up Steve's cock, watching as the artist shuddered in that tight grip. Bucky slid his hand free from around Steve's manhood and slipped two fingers inside of his body. He was so ready for this.

"Ohh..." Bucky couldn't hold back his voice. He shuddered as he scissored his fingers and cracked his eyes open, seeing Steve watching almost dumbfounded as he pleasured himself. He sighed as he removed his fingers, pulling Steve to a sitting position on the couch. Buck knelt astride Steve's slim hips, lowering himself down slowly.

"Are you ready for the ride?" Buck smirked, watching a sweet blush spread across Steve's high cheekbones. The artist swallowed hard, running his fingers across Bucky's bright tattoos. Buck took a deep breath and slid down a little, feeling Steve's cock push gently into his body. It had been so long. He had forgotten how good it felt to be claimed like this. Steve had a dumbfounded look on his face; brows knit together in concentration.

"You're so tight..." Steve sighed in appreciation as Bucky slid down all of the way with a groan. Bucky pulled up and slid back down. This time they both moaned.

"Feels so good..." Bucky was panting now, that dark hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. He felt the tight press of Steve's cock in his body, making him drive in deeper, push down harder, wanting to feel every inch. He felt greedy, possessive. He wanted Steve to mark him, to claim him, to make sure everyone knew who it was that he fucked.

"Ahhhh! Nnngh!" Bucky was clutching Steve's slim shoulders, riding him rough. Steve could feel the pleasure getting the better of him and he was staring straight at the punk's chest. He gripped Bucky's hips, leaning forward to drag his tongue along a sensitive bud. Bucky flinched, holding the artist tighter against his body, continuing to rock his hips.

"Oh, Steve..." Bucky leaned into that dirty mouth, shuddering as he tightened his muscles, feeling Steve moan against his chest, biting down roughly against Bucky's heaving sweat-slick chest. Steve reached climax as Bucky shot his load against their chests feeling the artist's teasing tongue lap against those sensitive peaks.

"Mmmm, Bucky...so good..." Steve breathed hotly against Bucky's chest as the punk slid off of Steve's softening cock, stumbling to the kitchen to wipe himself off and fetch a glass of water. He chugged it, feeling Steve's thick release run down his inner thighs.

"You must have been holding back forever, with a load like that..." Bucky teased, handing the full glass of water to Steve. The slight artist sat up, swallowing the water gratefully. Bucky handed the towel to Steve who cleaned himself off. They sat on the couch together, watching as the rain started to patter against the windows.

"It's just like that first time." Steve reminisced.

"Yeah, but this time I can finally call you my boyfriend." Bucky leaned over to press his lips against Steve's, feeling the smaller man lean gratefully into the kiss. Bucky thought he was the luckiest man alive in that moment.


End file.
